Week 2

About Week 2

Do you eat fast? Ever been told to slow down at the dinner table? Mom and dad tell ya: It’s not a contest!

But what if it was? For seven straight says Mike, Kellen, & Moe ate every meal like a competitive eating contest and documented it below. Ordinary portions, extraordinary speed. In public, in private, we gagged, choked, chewed, swallowed, preserved and pushed mind, body, and more body to their limits. Some of the videos might be hard to watch. But trust us… they were even harder to swallow.

Competitive Eating, Day 1 (Mike) (3.25.13)

Part of me doesn’t want to write about this–part of me just wants these videos to stand as they are. I see that Moe continued with the automatic writing strategy that we did with the Domino’s challenge for his first day. I note that Kellen is open in journaling about her struggles with this upcoming week.

Me? I just want to eat it and get on with life.

It’s a weird feeling, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I mean, sure, I’m eating faster than usual…but for all intents and purposes, it’s not that much faster than I how I normally consume food when no one’s watching. This thought makes me uneasy. It opens a Proustian trapdoor to my pre-teen years of being a husky kid with a hunger for Taco Bell and hammocks. It makes me aware of my body in a way that I’ve suppressed for a good long while. Despite how I look now, I still carry the feeling of a fat kid in my body–Ugly Duckling Syndrome to the max.

This is why I worked out at my gym past midnight last night. I wailed on an enormous tractor tire with a sledgehammer in the training area. Every swing brought the image of burning any remaining semblance of love handles off my body. Sweat. Aching muscles. Looking in the mirror as I swing the hammer. Over and over. Bang. Bang. Bang.

I don’t want to talk about it, and yet it’s the most important thing to talk about. I’m confronting my boyhood body all over again. Kellen’s suggestion of fasting makes me want to do it…right now. Instead, I have five more days of eating on fast forward. I want to do it and be done and never speak of it again. Not reflect. Of course, I said that at the beginning of this entry, and look where it got me.

I am not a fast eater.

I have no tricks in my bag. I eat slowly– I only have eaten with one other person in my life that ate slower than me. It has always been this way. Avid slow food activist. Take your time. So for me? This week’s challenge is kicking my ass already.

I ate this incredible breakfast made by my friend Chris back in Texas (he’s a super inventive cook)
seared pork chop on a layer of naan with sliced avocado and sri racha cock sauce on top, side of homemade kale chips, cup of throat tea
I’m just gonna say it right here to get it off my conscious: I didn’t speed eat that meal. I WOULD have, y’all, but I think the fact that Chris makes some of the best food on this planet, next to I rarely see them these days, next to the fact that I barely ate a sampler portion of what he prepared last night because I was still super full from the Dominos pizza challenge… Looking back, it would’ve made for some fantastic video footage… but ultimately, he took all morning to prepare this gorgeous meal, and frankly I wasn’t ready / brave enough to introduce my training regimen in their lives.

Does this mean I lost today? Is this what it’s like to train for a marathon? When you go outta town for a few days, do you still run? Eating at a fast pace might be more enjoyable after a ridiculous huge workout. Does Belt of Fat inspire working out? I would’ve never thunk… All day today, I had indigestion like a motherfuck, not to mention the dizziness that flying normally loads on me. The absolute last thing I wanted to do to my stomach was make it angrier… Eating fast is not something my gut nor my sensibility likes. The peanut butter sandwich before bed was an impulse, but I think I needed it. First time dipper-in-liquid right here! Good strategy. Could’a just put the mixture of sandwich sopped up with water in a pail and slopped it up like a pig why dontcha? I am already tired of this week’s challenge of eating every meal like it’s a food challenge. You can’t steer away from this– what, am I gonna rebel but just not eating? Me? Yeah right. I have to eat all day every day. Trying to keep this fun & positive, but shit you guys, you can’t really take a break from speed eating this week… that is, unless you flirt with fasting?

Moe’s Competitive Eating Day 1 

Something how full not so oats & burp so so good, no yes why uh huh, that again, feeling like Mr. Ed, an orse is an orse uh hucka hucka. Nothing good I want to enjoy, gone sad happy not the opposite, one step forward two step you put your right foot in, tea is drank fast, bring the pottle to the kettle black black black.

Slow dang good cookin, slow why fast slow taste good, taste, still cookin, spice got the sniffs burning down, sniff yeah. Remember when Javy ate that pepper. Sniff swallow fast no slow. Speed. I don’t want to eat like this anymore. BURP Hiccup! Burp slurp. a lentil in my teeth find food hidden days later. That’s where my steak went. But where did my mind go? My tongue searching behind my back molars for memories. Remember to floss.

Bad technique to die. Hot, coloring your life with too much spice. Full, this time, good eat? Buuuuuuuuuuuuurp Never stop mild not too much burn pressure there though why eat if you’re not hungry?

Competitive Eating, Day 2 (Mike)

Well, that sucked. Which part? I believe all of it, but the brain freeze from speed-eating sweet, delicious local ice cream may have been the topper. Four more days…

Moe’s Competitive Eating Day 2

Pain in my back where does it come from? Taste in my back pain in my ass. Breath is short when does food stop air. Choking, not yet, buuuuuuuuuuuurp is one solid goddamn bless the free world fe-fi-fo-fum. Blood and guts. The one thing we all need is more water. Life force blah blah blah Can’t swallow. Real pain, not discomfort, there is no body only mouth and ass, in & out, shit & food. I do not wan this, don’t you tell me how I feel. I keep thinking about my reward. I wanted syrup. Can’t start over? Did it record. No second takes, no replay. The pain is gone but why was it there to begin with now just sticky pen and sticky page. wipe off and go to sleep. I fucked a pancake for breakfast.

Salad harder to eat than pizza, messier. Vile weed. Pulled a carrot out of my nose. Tastes like food. real things, buuuuuuuuuuuuurp again. Less pain, I was forward to. Don’t do this to food. do I want to share. don’t waste money. put something good in bad way. You breath, no taste. tired. worn out. strategy in being a fool. Water was good. But make sure not to drown.

It’s easy if you don’t chew. I was full before I began. Buuuuuuuuuuurp. Where the fuck do they come from. It was still too hot. Remember how mommy used to foo the food. Foo it. Foo you. I don’t want to eat that. The last slice of tomato. Sitting at the dinner table till dark, go outside, I don’t like the seeds, I’m not like you cut off the fat, the pork chop, no lumps in the potatoes. Creamy. Don’t get that near me. If that food has a history I don’t want it.

Competitive Eating, Day 3 (Mike)

I am in Michigan for most of this week. The travel plus work that I need to do here has thrown me off a workout schedule, which makes me very, very anxious. I plan on going to the gym in–looks at watch–five hours to get my first solid workout in for the week. The last speed-eating of each day seems to be late for me, and that has also contributed to an altered mental state right before sleep and once I wake up. If I’m inhaling food, it needs to be after a major workout. Doing this mechanical munching for no functional reason (other than that I can, son) seems misguided in my All-American input equals output view on food.

Hear, hear to Kellen about Italy and slow eating. Oh, how I plan to savor food after this training session has run its course, my dear. It has now occurred to me how in real life I’m only a few notches away from this nom-nom-nom-ing of food we’re doing this week. Treat food like a lover–slow and steady wins the race. My intestinal tract will thank me.

I also second Moe–I need to eat greens. Salads are in my future. I read the signs in cheese sauce from my demolished macaroni like tea leaves for a fortune teller. You will encounter food that is tall, dark green, and delicious. Between the gym and greenery, there will be some semblance of the balanced me again.

Speed Eats – Day Two & Three – Kellen

My cab driver this morning said something that should be quoted here. We were talking about food (how surprising–I’m obsessed with this subject), and he tells me before living in Chicago, he lived in France. He said the people there are centered around food– you eat a little bit with friends, then you sit down for a big meal that lasts hours, wine, more wine, a little more food, always eating. When moving to the States seven years ago, he described the country as a culture that eats fast, “like machines.” Suddenly, I am struck with why I’m having such a hard time with these speed eats. The first time I visited Italy, I fell in love with their food, their pace, and the familial hearth that food serves in the center of the kitchen table. Meals were to be served around family, right out of the oven, divided in courses, lasting hours, savored. Pasta is only to be prepared al dente (a notion I had no idea about– I thought any pasta not mushy was undercooked!) Pizza would have a short list of ingredients– the dough? Yeast, water, salt, flour and olive oil. The sauce? Slowly-simmered Tuscan tomatoes with fresh basil, salt and pepper, maybe more olive oil. Cheese? Circles of fresh mozzerella, bubbling from the wood-fired oven, not consistently grated on top like us Americans do. Simple. Add a few slivers of fresh basil on top, and you have the most delightful margherita pie that tastes exactly like what it is: basil, mozzerella, dough, tomato.

Do we eat like machines? Invariably so. Junk food for me is the best example in my life– eating a bowl of popcorn, chips and salsa, dips, appetizers, munchin’s– I don’t even think when I eat these things. Are there Americans out there who eat as slowly as I do? I think this is why I loved Italy in the first place–breakfast consists of having a slow doppio macchiato with a pastry; lunch is best at a trattoria served with an antipasto, primo, secundo, terzo, e dolce course with a glass of  wine; and dinner? Forget it. You best not be in any kind of rush, especially if there’s a gelato shop across the street that makes pistacchio e stracciatella in house. I didn’t live in Florence for the majority of my life, but the time I have spent there has deeply shaped me. Suffice it to say, I almost forgot about these roots which lay exposed with this cab conversation today.

Yesterday, I lightened up a bit. At first pissed at seven in the morning (again, on way too little sleep / rushed to make the train), slurping down my bowl of cereal actually helped me get to work on time. I ate like a bird for lunch once home since I didn’t want to speed eat a meal on break in front of my co-workers. I started cooking my famous tarragon chicken pot pie (with a homemade pie crust (!) & stock made from scratch from frozen roast chicken bones). It took half a day to make. Once I sat down to time how quickly I could tear up this meal that took four fucking hours, I had to laugh. A lot to do with my hunny playing jock jams and Bobby Brown to pump me up, I had fun with it. I didn’t reach what I thought could be my personal best (eating all that pie crust in under four minutes would’ve been something to see), but I made a turning point in this week’s rehearsals. Even though it’s not in my taste to inhale food or eat like a machine, my stomach rumbled in a low gurgle, “Go forth in this training… Be merry.”

Even though I’m still slow as fuck, it’s on now. I am tempted to make my most extravagant, long-winded, every-pot-and-pan-in-the-house-is-dirty feast. Julia Child’s beouf bourgignon? Dim sum with homemade eggrolls and chili sauce? Thanksgiving in March with all the fixings? Bring it on. I can handle it. Give me ten minutes.

Failure For Real

Yep. It happened. I ate an entire bowl of popcorn and a half a pint of mint chocolate chip custard… without the record button on.

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The ole unbuttoned pants trick!

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Look at how pissed I look. All for nothing when there ain’t no documentation, honey.

-Kellen

Moe’s Competitive Eating Day 3

Shit food choices happening a long time. The spirit of it all kinda not there. get out of my head and drop dead, right said fred says frankie says don’t put that in your mouth. Honey I ate the kids riding cheerios tubing in 1%, naw naw unsweeted almond milk gonna save the world, I see, haven’t reverted back to savages. Need something in me not to sour, shelf life vs self life purty dang good, that green pepper is still fresh, how coming nothings going bad? No burps today, caffeine on the rise, 2,000 years of civilization, did I do something wrong? It’s about high time, it’s about high noon and I got to see a man about his horse meat.

Same as it ever was. Talking Heads stuck in my head. Not thinking healthy. Save the queen, the good food, fight the good fight. Can’t eat raw this way, takes too long to chew. Stop chewing. Stop chewing? Stop breathing. yeah that’s it. Bad stuff is sweet. Bad stuff is neat. Bad stuff is easy to eat. It’s in its DNA, in its GMO, I wasn’t born, I was raised this way. Jaw is gonna fall off, someone finds it 1,000 years from now, dusts off the powdered sugar.

Dang that hit the spot. Is drinking eating? I’d love to juice a small village, bones like sardines, great source of omega 3s but you lose the enzymes, the pulp, all those remainders stuck on the edge of the universe waiting for Langoliers to eat them up. I’m just not hungry like I was. I lack ceremony, but I don’t want to appreciate these impulses. Watch what you  eat. Right but I want to eat what I eat not just fucking watch it. No reruns on my TV dinner. TV trays equal laptops in bed. Don’t eat in bed. You want a tip? Don’t smoke in bed. Common sense tells you wear a raincoat in the rain. Salt & pepper could cure anything but shoop she weren’t no Mrs.Dash. C’mon now…? I couldn’t hurt a boiled frank from Penn Dutch they way I love you. I mean even Werner Herzog ate a damn shoe with some respect for the man that wore it.

Competitive Eating, Day 4 (Mike)

This day felt better on the whole. Perhaps the best day so far. Why? I ate green stuff–peppers and salads. The other highlight was wearing Rice Krispie lipstick during my cereal speed eating. It was a unexpected side effect of eating cereal super fast, and that sense of discovery and humor there was great as I was eating. Working out today also helped–the food was going to good use.

Two more days.

Day four of six : Kellen

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel…

Breakfast (again) got weirdly recorded, so iMac photobooth video capture? You’re out. I wish I woulda gotten all that footage, cuz I think Kellen’s getting to her new personal best with cereal. I’ll prove it with tomorrow’s try. Lunch took well over 15 minutes to scarf down. The portion of the fries was insane. I almost quit– I was close to hurling chunks of chicken and spicy mayo, but kept my composure and finished. I gotta admit, I’m really impressed by you men, Moe & Mike. Especially the messiness of the indian food and the breakfast taco bit in like 4 bites– super cartoonish! In my last two days of this training, I’m going to strive to get messier, more absurd.

It’s great to see my compadres writing the need for greens. I think my dinner idea was to completely counteract my snack inhale last night. Pretty boring video, but hey– why don’t you try chugging an ice cold thick-as-hell smoothie with crunchy bits of blackberry seeds juxtaposed with a piping hot cup of tea in under 5 minutes? Oh and yeah, with tonsils.

Sidenote: I’ve noticed after speed eats (sans the smoothie health chug) that I have a smoker’s cough for a few minutes. Possibly due to inhaling so much air in process. Any of you fellas experiencing this?

TWO. MORE. DAYS.

Moe’s Competitive Eating Day 4

Only good for dipping in toast, leave the slimpy bits parnsip chips for adults. Now that I’m grown, eating bad tastes good, I don’t wanna eat my veggies, they’re too good for me anyway. The incredulous edible egg got my man standing with an egg mustache. Inhaled those fuckers, not bad as long as you don’t stop to smell the roses but we stayed up too late the night before and passed out in mom’s flower bed. Hot sauce hit the spot. Can you spot a trini a mile away? Burning releases endorphins, memory, feel good tingle we feel down below now on my lips. Life in the 10 items or less fast lane, no 5 Amy’s mac & cheese don’t count as 1!, anyway you know it’s going straight to your hips

sugar rush for sure, I crashed then burned… then burned and DAMN can that man play the sax. He just waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! and I was like waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Dude, yeah, you just ate a lot of cake, you just made my day, too bad the kkk took your baby away.

Competitive Eating, Day 5 (Mike)

Not enough milk…killer.

Kale…killer in the chewing department.

Jambalaya went down smooth.

Tomorrow is the end of this ridiculous week. Thank God.

Moe’s Competitive Eating Day 5

Spent too much time chewing. Stolen food tastes good, cut off Aladdin’s hand but that man was trying to feed his family. Bad food in small quantities is less than or equal to good food in large quantities. Good people deserve good food. Bad people deserve good food. Clean water, listen to that Roots song ya’ll! The oil stained the bag, I knew that was going to happen, a stick of butter can be very deceiving. Knives and forks are for dorks.

Picnic style rules preserve the integrity of the food. What about the boob eating it? Did I just say boob? Low brow, middle American, hi octane. Is that Rocky music swelling yet or is that my belly. Grumbling. One notch over the line sweet Jesus eating for our sins, no such thing as a free association lunch, forgot my free lunch code, what’s your last name? Spaghetti slopped on my tray with an ice cream scooper. All these little domes, little kings and little thrones. It’s good Friday, where the fuck is ice cube? TV marathon on the tube, put on your kicks run 26 then break me off a twix. SLOW down… it’s not a race. Why do we need to be number 1? Why? It’s more fun.

Day Five & still the same old SHIT

yuuuuuuup

{I’d call this a new personal best, Youtube video under 4 minutes!}

Chewing the cud, like cows, like grass. My spirit animals are cows, my dachshund Ziggy, a hungry goat, a mouse and a chipmunk.

COWS // I’ve always had a fascination with cows. They are slower, thoughtful, yet they eat mechanically. The jaws in a circular motion like when you’re in your sweet spot riding a bicycle long distance. Endurance. Eating all day. Salt lick. Gentle with treats. Moves slow, eats like a racehorse. My friend’s cow, Freckles, is in the back of my mind. Gigantic. Female. Vegetarian. Vast. Spread out. Surrounded by friends. Clean air. Green country grass.

GOATS // Goats eat down. They’ll chomp hearty overgrown weeds like it’s no thing. Incredibly healthy teeth. Churning. Chewing. Going at it all day. People own them as pets to essentially mow the lawn. Think about your plates like an unkempt yard; my job is to plow it down.

CHIPMUNKS // Chipmunks for the obvious reason of storage in their cheeks. This might be my secret strategy.

A MOUSE // I might hold onto things as I eat them, looking like I’ll do no harm, munching on cheese like it’s going out of style– just you wait though– I might not be the fastest fella, but I can outwit your Velveeta chunks waiting on mousetraps in attics.

ZIGGY // Ziggy the dachshund can scarf a bowl of dog food down within seconds. Scarf? Inhale, really. Always hungry. She’ll eat anything except lettuce– por ejemplo, today as I was shaving some asparagus to top my bowl of couscous, she looked all excited to try the remnants. I don’t believe her, but I put some raw in her bowl anyway and lo and behold, she scarfs the little trees down. Sidenote: she loves uncooked carrots, so I think the shape of asparagus reminded her of her favorite vegetable. Super adorable. Not a picky eater at all. Starving 24/7. Her stomach and her nose are her strongest organs. She’s gonna live forever.

Competitive Eating, Final Day (Mike)

Now that this week is over, I finally feel ready to reflect a little more about this process.

Like I said before, I was a husky kid. The svelte uber-doofy man that you’ve watched slam burritos, jambalaya, cereal, and the like was once a self-conscious chunky pre-teen. It’s taken years of winnowing down my diet, amping up my exercise, and riding the chemical wave of adolescence to get me to where I am now. I wasn’t one of those skinny kids from the get-go (damn them).

This week felt like a dismantling of all the defense mechanisms I’ve built to stop from reverting back to that fat kid. Is it over-exaggerating? Most definitely. Does that ever change what’s deep-seeded in my brain? Definitely not. I have been rigorously working out since the start of Belt of Fat…even at the beginning with Rudy’s Challenger Burger. I have maintained or even lost a few pounds during these weeks in good part to the obsessive nature of my workout schedule. The fear of falling off the wagon is incredible.

I’m reminded of the The Road to Wellville by T.C. Boyle. Being from Battle Creek, Michigan, I read this book as research for my hometown and my artwork. What’s striking–and comical–about the novel is the protagonist Will Lightbody being held captive by the health diet and exercise plan of Dr. John Harvey Kellogg. Lightbody drinks a glass of milk every hour for a few weeks; the same occurs with grapes; the same with bran. A few yogurt enemas later, Lightbody has flown the coop to roost at one of the local pubs to gorge on beer and red meat. When he is inevitably caught, the cycle starts all over again for him and the reader. The Battle Creek Sanitarium casts a long shadow and we are all living under it.

This Sisyphean task of better health/diet/body is a futile one in the shade of black humor. Why do we subject ourselves to the torture of having an epic body? When we do, we sacrifice the point of why we would ever want a killer bod–to live! We spend all of our free time working out or obsessing over high fructose corn syrup when we should be eating with a little more daring abandon. I’m not justifying my Dionysian behavior in the food department this week. I’m suggesting that this speed-eating challenge is not falling off the health wagon so much as it is riding the same wagon as a cart on a roller coaster. Up, down, loop-de-loop, round the curve, dark tunnels, and then a chug to a stop. That is what this week felt like. The adrenaline and horror is over now. I held my hands in the air and screamed through these meals. I had the guts to try it out and now the body needs rest.

My stretch marks remind me of my maximum capacity and what I have held in the past–what I’m sure I can still hold if given the chance. One week won’t destroy what I’ve built. Hell, six weeks won’t, considering I’m counteracting any inflation every other day with exercise. I’m no Dr. Kellogg, but I’m certainly no binge eater either. I’m in between these extremes and trying to survive and maybe attempting to look halfway decent while I’m at it.

Cue Carly Simon. Go ahead.

Last Looks – Kellen – Day 6

I realized just now, as I’m posting, I only ate two meals yesterday. Very strange. Maybe it’s because it was a day off? Ate a late breakfast, and lunch was around 4 or 5. Still though, this is extremely odd for a stomach like mine, who’s constantly wondering where the next meal will be.

We move forward. Last week was a bitch for me. I wasn’t looking forward to eating anything, for fear that I wouldn’t be fast enough / because I’d have to document me eating it / since it was almost entirely a solitary process. I normally eat with my partner or around friends or family. Food is a way to bring people together. And last week? Food became a workout regimen for me. Better time. More more more. Repetition. Speed. Weak. Body awareness. Wanting to do other things. Get your mind back on the prize.

I will say, I responded most to eating Ethiopian with my hands. The injera bread, sour and spongy, sopping up bebere sauce, acting as utensils. Who needs a fork in this country? Food is so much more visceral when you can feel it, smell it, get a sense of it fully before tasting it. Perhaps this is something Belt of Fat needs to investigate– eating things with our hands, our senses.

Speaking of moving forward… I am back to eating slow as a sloth today. About to prepare some righteous mac ‘n cheese (Grandmommy’s recipe + re-vamped with my nerdy ass artisan cheese knowledge) for Easter Sunday with the in-laws. Thought I’d share the recipe since it’s baller…

BAKED MACARONI
from the kitchen of Grandmommy Miller

ingredients
2 cups elbow macaroni (cook as directed on box)
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
2 cups white sauce 
     4 tbs. margarine
     4 tbs. flour
     1/2 tsp. salt
     1/4 tsp. pepper
     2 cups milk

cooking instructions:
In a saucepan, melt margarine, add flour and stir, gradually add milk while stirring and sauce thickens. Add salt & pepper. Add cheese, stirring, and when well mixed, add cooked pasta to mixture. Bake at 375 for 30 minutes covered and uncover and bake 15 more minutes if needed.

We did it, guys.

Moe’s Competitive Eating Day 6

Recording failed. Never pressed record. Burnt my mouth something harsh on the best Jamaican patties on Flatbush and Irish moss costs way too much and tastes way too good to big gulp at this rate, at this price I can not afford inflation, inhalation, or indigestion. Bloomberg won’t have it. Memories of Marie’s patties on Colonial drive, after community service 6am a religious experience on the gulf course, lines out the door. All these women, these mothers, making patties without the daddies. But at Christie’s? It’s the men behind the counter serving the women, the opposite heteronormative jerk chicken heads, Someone’s n the kitchen with Dina. Hello? Hello? Hello? What’s so interesting about the bus. Little boy got his feet in the air and his head on the ground. And all this writing doesn’t bring the memories back, but the mouth still hurts and my skin is still burnt so as long as there’s a sting I guess I’ll remember.

Remember in Pee Herman’s Big Top Adventure he took Penelope Anne Miller on a picnic and they had egg salad sandwiches? White ass ho. Before the dog faced boy and the film stopped and I was in AMC 8 in Cutler Ridge, aunt Heidi, I believe, and those heirloom tomatoes were sooooooooooooooo big. Genetically modified taste, experience, a song by Bjork, lost my virginity to Krystal with K, large and in charge, rice & beans will make you healthy, keep the cd on repeat, who said big girls don’t cry.

Belt of Fat Rehearsal Challenge (Week 2): Ghost Pepper Vision Quest & Movement Study

The Eaters of Belt of Fat indulge in ghost pepper chicken wings and curry to explore movement and writing when under the duress of burning mouths and guts.

Vision Quest Playlist (1 theme song picked by each performer from their competitive eating week)

Ghost Pepper Chicken Wings (Mike’s Automatic Writing)

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Burning Satan fire fireworks red fucking sauce hot sauce vision quest space quest milk bones juggling fire bonanza why is the trio doing this again? Why? Why? Burning magma lips hot words Kentucky Fried syllables bread crumbs and gasoline petroleum gas snot rag threads bunions onions special sauce Kellen is gagging in the other room falling apart times tines I feel for her picking my teeth blowing my nose blowing chunks belch coming down these words on fire! Spontaneous combustion rotocasting mandarin root chewing gum spades in the earthworks ironworks inner works the lips are kielbasas busting their casings inner casings capillaries caterpillars praying to sweet risen Christ for calming balming ream out the safety ring floats in Kellen’s glass of milk can’t stop drinking milk anything to not feel burning hip hop criss cross cross stops flip flops flopping bellyflopping ice cubes on a leash breathing heavy hyperventilating confetti and red vapor chainlink shadows nail

Ghost Pepper Vision Quest (Moe’s automatic writing)

Jesus vs the volcano. can’t talk. take my voice away. I haven’t cried in 2 yrs. bring a man to his knees. A man on fire, that’s bullshit, fuck a man and his stupidity, fire been around a lot longer than man. Find comfort in rice, pain reveal truth, tortured artist, hungry artist, kafka on the shore, symbolism, minimalism, fundamentalism, Gandhi ate a grain of rice a day kept the dictator away, more rice to stop the pain. But feel sooooooooooooo good. Cry, keeping crying, the only thing that feels good. More butter in the rice, endorphins buzzing like a cool down too soon. Pain now just tingle, cry such a little person I feel this small, I got the sniffles, I  said I can handle it, stay hungry, eyes on the prize, cockfight with chicken thighs, eating & fucking, think of George Costanza, eat & fuck at a potluck, suck down my Caraway seed. Man once again exerting power, control yet still afraid of his shadow. Think of women in Burkas, wet pussy underneath, is that so bad? Food wants peace, wants love, friendship, bonding, culture, family, memory. But starve me of these and I know the meat is sweeter at the bone. Let a dog roam and he’ll find his way home.

Hot hot heat

I gotta say, it is FANTASTIC to wake up to enjoy a bowl of cereal without timing / documenting yourself.

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This was the mayhem we got into last night with our rehearsal. Looks like an innocent order of wings, no? Until the reveal that this was Mike’s & my portion for the ghost pepper challenge. That’s right: GHOST PEPPERS. If you haven’t Wikipedia’d or Youtube searched ghost chiles, do yourself a favor and indulge in one of the hottest peppers in the world (and the dumbasses on the Tube who put their body through the agony of eating a pepper, seeds and all!)

It was by far the hottest thing I’ve ever eaten… the build of the heat was super strange, and intense. Here is my automatic writing we did after the damage, with the heat still on:

hot tamale hot tamale hot tamale hot tamale stomach gonna getcha stomach gonna wreck ya stomach aint gonna help you this time around – pain & pain & the heat isnt stopping im gonna throw it all throw it all throw it all back at cha stomach bile angry intestines my stomach can take this – just threw up water thats a sign that the spice has already been dealt with – Jalepeno dreams, serranos in the hot sun – a slow burn like inhaling resin & ember – fire pit dancing on coals – red hot skin pores expelling scoville scales to the millionth. who knew milk would balance this pH level but amnesia ammonia a light expectorant something to make me blow these disgusting frivolous chunks up & out of my body–

Would those wings be worse off coming back up my esophagus? loosen your belt, unbutton your jeans, pants, pantaloons, pontoon the worse of it might be over sizzle sizzle on the cast iron skillet get rid of it get loose yall beer + milk might not be easy swishing in this churning stomach acid I think of it fisting a churn like butter

Well… all I can say about that is…
BUCKET LIST.

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